


Banshee to Coyote

by wolfwithpanthereyes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithpanthereyes/pseuds/wolfwithpanthereyes
Summary: brief Malydia secret agent AU because why not





	Banshee to Coyote

“Banshee to Coyote, Coyote, come in,” Lydia mutters for the sixth time in three minutes, hoping the microphone on the neck of her dress hasn’t broken. She touches a hand to her hair, to where the microphone lies concealed beneath fabric, drops her hand back to her hip to avoid looking suspicious. It feels intact. The earpiece is definitely working; there’s men crying and loud thumps, discernible even beneath the heavy breathing coming from Coyote herself. It’s why Lydia excused herself from the social niceties in the first place and found a quiet space behind a pillar in the far corner of the room, because she hasn’t a clue what’s going on downstairs and she needs to know before deciding on her next move. 

“Coyote, come in!” Lydia hisses, trying one final time before giving up and heading for the basement herself, and this time Coyote responds. 

“All taken care of!” Her voice is bright, same as it always is after a fight - Lydia pictures Coyote with her teeth bared in a grin of post-adrenaline rush, tucking wild strands of hair back behind her ears. She can never keep whatever fancy hairstyle Lydia does for her for more than five minutes at most. “Three down, the hall’s clear. I’ve got easy access.”

“Respond sooner next time.” Lydia chews the inside of her cheek, closing her eyes momentarily to recover. One of these days, Malia’s going to barge right into a mission and find herself killed without Lydia even knowing-

Coyote, Lydia corrects herself. When on a mission, she tries to think in nothing but codenames. That way there’s less chance of her accidentally blowing their covers if Coyote pulls another reckless stunt that causes Lydia to, god forbid, _worry_ about her and blurt out her real name without thinking. 

“Couldn’t exactly respond while I’m taking them down, could I?” There’s a rustling of fabric, and if Lydia closes her eyes again she can imagine Coyote adjusting her dress, shuffling her bra back into place. Coyote’s complained to Lydia enough about it before, how annoying it is to fight in clothing that’s not suited for her fighting style at all. 

“Urgh, they tore it!” Coyote complains, and Lydia rolls her eyes. 

“That’s why I make sure you wear no clothes over fifty dollars.” She glances over her shoulder, at the array of high society names mingling in the ballroom. No-one seems to have noticed her absence yet. Good. “Get in the room, shove the USB in the computer, leave the team to do the rest." 

"You’ve got it, boss,” Coyote replies, all mocking and cheerful. “And then I’ll head to your hotel room, yeah? As much as I loved helping put you in that dress, I’d love it even better if I get to take it off you." 

Lydia Martin doesn’t blush, doesn’t smile, doesn’t acknowledge Coyote’s words externally in any respect. She’s a professional, after all. 

She’ll save it for after the gala, when she can call Coyote Malia again in the privacy of her king-size bed and celebrate a mission well done.


End file.
